


The Perils Of Online Dating

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Future Fic, Human Stiles, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Misunderstandings, Online Dating, Peter is part of the pack, Sane Peter Hale, Supernaturals are known, emissary stiles, implied alpha Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 12:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: If you can't get the one you want you'll have to look for someone else.





	The Perils Of Online Dating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpookyMiscreant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpookyMiscreant/gifts).



> Made for the Steter Secret Santa Exchange as a gift for lacrossepapi. I hope you'll enjoy this story :)
> 
> Did I forget some important tags? Let me know, I'll add them.  
> Comments, kudos and constructive critism welcome

Scrolling through the page Peter made a disgusted sound, wondering what on earth had possessed him to sign up for a service like this. Shaking his head as he scrolls past yet _another_ dick pic (or at least the equivalent for those who don’t have what humans would perceive as one) he makes another disgusted sound, this time aimed at himself.

He knows very well why he signed up for this particular hell site. Vividly remembers the pungent smell of arousal wafting off of his darling nephew’s emissary whenever they’re in the same room. Peter, having returned from the grave far saner than he went into it, had sworn to himself never to hurt Derek again, and thus his ill advised adventure into online dating had begun.

So far he’s less than impressed. And not for lack of trying, moon knows he’s been on more “dates” with these people than he’d ever wanted (two; he’d been drawn in by the lure of a pretty dick and somewhat civil conversation - he’d been sorely disappointed by reality). Then he sees it; amidst the sea of genitals and (litteral) assholes it stands out like a sore thumb - not that Peter’s going to complain, it’s a nice change of pace and there’s something about the picture that has his wolf perking up in anticipation.

It’s a black and white picture of a shoulder and upper arm. The skin seems pale and hairless, and Peter’s first thought is how frail its owner must be, with how dainty it looks. Then he leans closer, realizes his mistake as he notices the muscle corded under the skin and the width of the shoulder; before he can think it through he clicks the username and sends SSpark a simple message.

~

Peter has kind of forgotten all about it when three days later his phone dings with a notification. As he pulls it from his pocket the door to Derek’s loft - Fridays are the weekly pack night, participation mandatory - slams open, Stiles and Scott spilling through, as always the last to arrive. Peter resolutely ignores the oppressive smell of the human’s arousal, just reaches for the glass Derek’s handing him as he walks past the couch on his way to the kitchen; ignores the way they smile at each other as well as Scott’s pained groan and the rest of the pack’s comments; instead focusing on the message he’s just recieved.

 _‘Kudos for originality’_ is all it says and Peter can feel his lips twitching in the beginnings of a smile. A few taps on the screen later and he’s composed his answer, sent it and locked his phone again, just in time for the pack to settle down around him.

Beacon Hills has been quiet for the past years, ever since they’d gotten rid of Deucalion and the rest of his twisted pack. That means that these days pack meetings are more about eating snack and watching movies than preparing for the next big threat. It’s not like it used to be, back before his and Derek’s world went up in flames but close enough to be comforting.  
Lydia and Erica are talking quietly to his right, Scott and Allison making out to his left. Boyd, Isaac and Jackson are watching the movie, completely engrossed with the monster drooling acid left and right. Stiles is providing a running commentary and Derek is reading, a soft smile around his lips, contentment wafting off of him. The wolf beneath Peter’s skin is restless, claws at his mind for attention; he watches someone take a flamethrower to an impressive amount of eggs.

~

 _‘It’s hardly orginal when it’s already been done’_ Peter’s words blinking on the screen as he waits for an answer. He’s too keyed up to fall asleep and he hopes SSpark will answer faster this time.

He’s dozing when the phone dings, instantly awake he grabs it and presses a button to bring the screen to life.

 _‘Considering the responses I usually get, I’d still call it original’_ it feels like a compliment and Peter can’t help but preen.

 _‘They can hardly be worse than the things left for the public to see’_ he writes, trying to figure out how to ask SSpark something personal without coming off as a creeper. By the time three hours have gone by he’s no closer to a solution but too tired to figure it out.

He tells SSpark goodnight and gets a _‘sweet dreams’_ in return. They’re filled with strong arms holding him close, the smell of ozone and something he can’t name filling his nose, warm breath against his neck and soft lips on his skin. When Peter wakes in the morning he needs to change the sheets.

~

Months rush by. They exchange a few pictures like the first ones; SSpark’s thigh, Peter’s clavicle - all very tame but still managing to have heat coursing through his veins when he looks at them. Maybe he is a creeper, Peter thinks as he looks at the printout of SSpark’s newest picture (his arm from wrist to shoulder) taped to the wall next to his desk.

They’d formed an instant friendship, had strengthen their connection with secrets, hopes and dreams they’d never told anybody else. Peter had told him about his hopeless crush on his alpha’s boyfriend, while SSpark had confided his hopeless love for an older man who’d never look twice at him. It was comforting talking to someone about these things; the unwavering support from somebody in a situation similar to his.

It wasn’t surprising their friendship took a turn into something more.

Turned out SSpark had a impressively filthy mind, just a few words enough to have Peter writhing in his chair, desperate for release. And gaining control of his limbs once more he returned the favor, every fantasy put into words hoping they’d bring as much enjoyment to his partner as they had him.

~

Shifted underneath the full moon. The smell of the preserve and pack in his nose, hard ground under his paws as he ran and ran and ran. The smell of ozone and citrus peaking his curiosity, the wolf urging him forward, silently moving closer; only to stop once realizing another scent - family. pack. _alpha_ \- was mixed with the first. Tugging his tail between his legs he turned, ran all the way back to his den.

The soft click of the door closing behind him brought him back to his senses, the memory of what he’d just seen too clear in his mind for him to sleep. Sitting down in front of his laptop Peter turned it on, hoping SSpark would be there to provide distraction.

He wasn’t. Peter was half way through throwing the laptop at the wall in frustration when he realized what he was doing. Closing his eyes and taking deep breaths he tried to center himself the way he’d been taught when he was still a child learning to control the wolf. It took longer than it should but at long last he felt like himself, the thought of Stiles and Derek together in the woods locked inside a box pushed to the edge of his mind where he could hopefully ignore it.

That’s when the sound signaling a new message sounded.

 _‘We should meet’_ it said, Peter staring at it, mouth fallen open in shock. He doesn’t know what to say. For months he’s dreamt about SSpark, wondered what he’d be like in real life; but he’s also afraid, that the man won’t live up to the fantasy and then Peter will be untethered, drifting without an anchor before ending up as an omega. He can’t say that to a virtual stranger.

Of course SSpark isn’t a stranger; Peter may not know his name, what he looks like, his scent or his voice, but he knows what kind of man he is, knows all the little things nobody else does and so he tells him. And SSpark repays him by revealing his own fears, reassurance once more that neither of them are alone with their doubts and worries and Peter feels something unclench inside him. By the time the sun rises they’ve agreed on a time and place.

~

Peter isn’t nervous. Not at all. It’s customary for him to be forty five minutes early. It gives him time to make exit strategies. Which is normal to do when you’re sitting in a booth with your back to the rest of the room. Sweating through your dress shirt. Okay, fine, he’s nervous, but anybody would be in his shoes.

He’d ordered a tea, deciding coffee was probably not the best choice with his jittery nerves, something that’s proven the right choice every time the door opens and his head snaps up, eyes drifting to see who walks through the door.

He’s not entirely sure he’d be able to recognize SSpark (unless he walks in without a shirt and his left side turned towards Peter that is) but he still wants to see the man before he sees him.And yet somehow he doesn’t. The door keeps opening, new voices telling the servers at the counter what they’d like to drink, the smell of coffee and syrup and whatnot overwhelming to Peter’s senses, drowning out everything.

He has his head in his hands when suddenly a voice that seems familiar asks:

”Bleu?”

“Yeah,” he rasps, throat dry and palms suddenly sweaty. He wants to say something else, but turning in his seat all words leave him at the sight in front of him.

Dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a grey shirt Stiles is standing in front of him, looking every bit as shocked as Peter feels. It doesn’t last long though, surprise soon replaced with anger.

“Is this a joke?” he demands more than asks, Peter still lost in the swirling amber of his eyes and not hearing what he says. The longer he remains speechless the angrier Stiles looks before with a muttered curse he turns on his heel and walks towards the door. That spurs Peter into action, leaping from his seat and hurrying after the man. Stiles, long since grown into his limbs, is already at his jeep but Peter has supernatural speed on his side and before the human can get in the car he has slammed the door shut and crowded Stiles against the metal frame.

”Stiles,” he growls, can _feel_ his control slipping as he leans a little closer, breathes a little deeper. Stiles smells like… Peter does a double take, the sugary sweet notes of arousal clear in the human’s scent, a smell Peter to this day has only experienced with Derek present. This time the growl has a hint of anger which somehow makes Stiles’ scent more pronounced. He takes half a step back in confusion.

Stiles doesn’t seem to have any reservations though, follows Peter until he loses his patience and grabs the wolf’s arms. He’s every bit as strong as Peter had imagined looking at the pictures he has; not strong enough to hold a him against his will but strong enough Peter would have to work for it if he wants to break the hold. He doesn’t. Instead he steps forward rather than continuing back, taking the human by surprise.

”No,” he finally answers Stiles’ original question, “it isn’t a joke.

There probably should be more words, explanations and declarations but neither of them have time for that when there are for quicker ways to make up for lost time.

They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, Stiles’ lips soft against his, arms warm around Peter’s shoulders, his body the perfect mix of hard and soft. Peter has no idea how they end up back at the jeep, doesn’t care to remember how he ended with his back against the door, the ground disappearing under his feet as Stiles devours him. It’s sweet and hot, too much and not enough, the wolf whimpering and pressing closer, the human mumbling unintelligible reassurances. It takes the flashing lights and obnoxious sirens of the sheriff’s car for them to separate and it’s only long enough to get into Stiles’ car and peel out of the parking lot in the direction of Peter’s apartment.

If either had cared to look back they’d have seen the Sheriff smiling, happy they’d finally worked it out.


End file.
